


Some Days It Doesn't Pay to Get Out of Bed

by innusiq



Series: Pre-Serum Problems [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9672353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innusiq/pseuds/innusiq
Summary: 01/05/1941:  Today, the temperature dropped and Steve developed a cough on the way home from work.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part five of a series of ficlets inspired by [todays-skinny-steve](http://todays-skinny-steve.tumblr.com) tumblr page that chronicles Pre-Serum Steve's day to day life beginning 01/01/1941. I continue to thank this tumblr user immensely for allowing me to use their posts as inspiration, and apologize for my slow right time!

The sun had barely cracked the morning dawn by the time Steve was slipping out of bed, easing out ever so carefully from the arm thrown around his waist in an effort to keep Bucky from stirring awake from his own much needed sleep. Even before making his struggles out of bed, Steve could tell the temperature had dipped since the night before, his nose feeling like an icicle and his fingers, no matter how curled into the blankets they were, numb not only due to the frigid air of their apartment but his own poor circulation in general as well. The last thing he wanted to do was head out to face the Sunday morning weather change, but he had made a promise to the O’Sheas to man their newsstand so the couple to make their way to morning Mass. In exchange for the stand watch he would receive a Sunday paper and a few breakfast pastries Mrs. O’Shea will insist he take because _you need some meat on your bones_ and she will then doubly insist, _and take one for James, too, that boy is always working_. 

He arrives at the couple’s newsstand with a half hour to spare, giving the middle-aged couple enough time to not only walk the five blocks back the same way Steve had come to the church but also spend a few moments in prayer prior to Mass beginning.

“You’re a good boy, Steven,” Mrs. O’Shea says, kissing both of Steve’s cheek before patting them with a happy smile. “You made your Sunday obligation, yes?”

Steve clears his throat, looking down at his twisting, gloved hands, unable to keep eye contact when he lies. “Yes ma’am.”

She chuckles happily, patting his cheek again. “Such a good boy.”

The older couple leave Steve to his watch over the stand, a busy morning of various church goers and morning people in general wanting to read up on current headlines or seeking new employment opportunities (something Bucky does each and every Sunday because working down at the docs, while it’s a great job, _it’s not something I want to do for the rest of my life_ ). Bucky’s not the reason he’s been skipping out on Mass Sunday mornings for the free paper, but it is a way for Steve to contribute as best he can to their day to day survival (and an excuse that isn’t the truth to why he’s been skipping Sunday morning mass for the past couple months). A few cents here, a free meal there, makes a difference, even if it’s a small one to their lives.

It is little over two hours later when the O’Sheas return to take over manning their stand. By then, Steve’s face feels frozen into a permanent smile. His legs (specifically his knees) are stiff and cracking as they bend, causing his gate to be more uneven as he makes his way back to the apartment. Breathing, while never at one hundred percent like any other normal person, is even more labored by the time he makes it up the few steps into the tenement, let alone the flights required to reach their floor. When he walks through their door, after closing it quietly in case Bucky is still sleeping, Steve just stands there, breathing heavily and not even knowing if he can make it the next couple steps to their beat-up old couch. Under his arm is the newspaper for Bucky, and grasped tightly in this left gloved hand is a bag with two (now cold) homemade cinnamon rolls. There’s a shiver that’s begun that won’t stop, beginning with his teeth, down through his shoulders and even his knees seem to be knocking with no real warmth provided by the apartment itself aside in the form of protection from the wind. 

It isn’t until he takes a glance towards their conjoined beds that he notices it’s missing a familiar lump of warmth. “B-B-Bucky?”

Steve moves then, a few paces to the small, rickety kitchen table with its mismatched chairs to set the bag of homemade pastries down and covers his mouth to cough. He should have seen this coming, when he woke that morning there was a rattle in his chest that wasn’t there the night before. He slips off his coat, draping it across one of the two chairs, and unloops his scarf (the one Bucky gave him three Christmases ago saying, _someone’s gotta make sure to keep that neck of yers warm_ ), coughing again before slipping his gloves and hat off too. 

“Bu…” Steve attempts to call out again, even knowing full well he’s the only one in the apartment, but his voice gets cut off again by another cough and one that won’t stop as he painstakingly takes a few more steps to the couch where the hunches over, arms braced against the nearest arm as he hacks his way to breathing again thinking, _not again_ , knowing full well after spending his morning in the frigid winter air he’s on the verge of courting another cold (if not something worse). Steve is mid-draw of breath (even if that breath isn’t barely half of what he needs), when their door swings open and a more than a bit agitated Bucky enters.

“Steve, your Goddamn, skinny, no-good ass better be in here or so help me Go…” Bucky’s tirade doesn’t so much taper off but comes to an abrupt stop when he catches sight of Steve catching his breath (or at least trying to). “Oh for crying…”

Three strides over and Bucky is behind him, hands gripping Steve’s shoulders before loosening, one moving down his chest over his erratically beating heart and the other to the center (or at least Steve’s center) of his back. Bucky gently rights Steve to as straight as his back will allow, while quiet words of encouragement are whispered into his ear.

“Hey, Pal, easy there,” Bucky begins, followed by a slow in hale of breath. “Breath with me Buddy, nice and easy.” 

Steve is listening, or he’s really trying to listen, but the initial panic is still there, it’s always there. The fear this may be his last breath, that this time, no matter how many _this times_ he’s faced and beat, that this time will be the time he won’t make it, no matter how many pleads he’s heard Bucky pray time and again, quietly by his bedside (Steve’s always heard them). His intakes remain slow, strained and staggered, but he keeps trying.

“Hey, hey, hey, come on, in,” Bucky breathes in while counting to five, “and out,” he continues, counting out the same numbers. 

Steve finally gets his first full breath in, after nearly ten cycles of the same five count inhales and exhales, and is rewarded with a pat against his chest.

“Attaboy, Stevie, just take it nice and slow. Ain’t got nowhere I gotta be.”

They continue like that, breathing in and exhaling out the same count, until Steve sags back against Bucky in a nearly dead weight, his breathing as normal as it ever is, and a tired sigh.

“Come on,” Bucky nudges, but he doesn’t let go of Steve, wrapping an arm around his waist as he leads Steve to their beds.

“Where were you?” Steve asks, rasps really, looking up at Bucky after he’s seated with a worried stare.

“I could ask the same thing, Pal,” Bucky returns, shaking his head and releasing an exasperated breath. “Went lookin’ for ya, after waking an’ finding ya gone. Should’a woken me. I’d’a gone with ya ta Mass.”

Steve averts his eyes. The thing is, he usually makes it back home before Bucky’s even rolled over most Sundays, sometimes even able to crawl back in bed (now that their in the thick of Winter) and has a few moments to relish the body heat Bucky radiates, so he’s never really had to explain before that it’s been two months since he stepped foot inside a church, and even longer the confessional. Instead of answering the question, he just shrugs, eyes focused on the darkened wood knot in the floorboard at his feet.

Bucky cups the side of Steve’s face, turning his head up, thumb brushing over his chilled skin and clucks his tongue at the evident cold of his cheeks. “Jesus Christ, how long you been out in this weather? The walk isn’t that far...”

Bucky’s moving them, pushing Steve back into bed and shucking off his own coat before crawling in next to Steve, quickly pulling the threadbare blankets up over them. Steve shivers as Bucky scoots about, settling on his side before pulling Steve back against him and wrapping an arm around.

“Buck… Bucky… You don’t’ have…” Steve attempts, struggling against his friend’s arms, pushing against the broad chest he admires through his sketches, and some days guiltily envies with his eyes, but there’s very little he can do against Bucky’s own strength.

Bucky snorts, shaking his head, but he doesn’t let Steve get away that easily. “Course I do. We can’t have ya getting sick again, can we? It’s been barely two weeks since you’ve recovered the last round and we’ve yet to break even.”

Steve continues struggling, stubborn as always Bucky would claim, but there is no way he’s going to be babied about being slightly chilled, he’s not the only one between the two of them who’s been out in the cold that morning, and he’s a grown ass man who can very well take care of himself. He also doesn’t need any more reminding of how much a drain he is on Bucky. Steve makes it onto his back before his chest betrays him again and the coughing starts up anew. It’s then another round of Steve struggling to just simply _breathe_ and Bucky talking him through the rising panic, taking care of him as always, something that comforts and pisses Steve off in equal measures. He wants to scream the injustice of his body betraying him at ever turn, and hide away the tears threatening to flow because no matter what he says, no matter what he does, he needs Bucky more than his pride is willing to allow him to admit. He needs Bucky more than his heart is allowed to admit. 

“Sh-sh-sh, hey, calm down. Yer just gonna aggravate it more,” Bucky says into Steve’s ear. “Stop bein’ so Goddamn stubborn and let me help.”

Steve stops struggling against his friend, the pleading in Bucky’s voice causing guilt to overshadow his anger, but the struggle to just breathe is far from over. It takes more than a few more minutes of breathing in tandem before Steve is able to finally relax, his tired body going completely lax against Bucky (his back to Bucky’s chest now), his breaths not deep but they are enough where he isn’t struggling to survive anymore. Bucky’s left hand is rubbing soothing circles against Steve’s chest, and Bucky’s right arm is tucked under Steve’s neck, fingers tracing back and forth along the hairline of Steve’s forehead. He sighs against the calming ministrations, sniffling back unshed tears that are barely being held at bay. He feels useless, _worthless_ , but he doesn’t say anything to the like because he knows he won’t be able to keep it together under the onslaught of Bucky arguing otherwise.

They remain that way, Bucky rubbing and tracing circles, Steve sniffling and coughing quietly off and on, because damnit he is probably coming down with something again, but he’s too damn tired to care. All that matters right now, all he can manage to care about right now is that he can breathe, he is warm and he has Bucky, who is just as stubborn as Steve, refusing to give up on his friend no matter how hard Steve tries to push Bucky away. 

“Why ya gotta be so Goddamned stubborn?” Bucky asks quietly against the side of Steve’s neck.

Steve snuggles back a little more against Bucky, arms wrapping around Bucky’s that is wrapped around his chest, before responding, “I could ask you the same.”

Bucky snickers, the noise sounding exasperated and fond at the same time, and it makes Steve smile. “What can I say? I got a great teacher.”

Steve snickers back quietly in response. They are definitely two peas that deserve each other. Steve’s lucky a million times over that Bucky chooses to be stuck in the same pod with him time and time again.

“Come on, get some rest,” Bucky coaxes with a nudge, his presence relaxing heavier against Steve’s back as he yawns in Steve’s ear. “We can talk about it later.”

Steve knew better that Bucky wouldn’t just let this morning slide. He’s going to want answers to where Steve was and why he was there, which will open a whole other can of worms Steve isn’t really ready to deal with, but at least he has a little more time before he has to confront what he himself has been avoiding. Truthfully, Steve knows Bucky won’t push if he isn’t ready to talk, but just admitting there being something Steve is facing but not ready to deal with will be enough to set Bucky on the alert. If the shoe were on the other foot, Steve knows he wouldn’t react any differently because for as much as Bucky as always got Steve’s back, Steve would stand up for Bucky each and every day.

While some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed, this being one of those days, and one of many he faces on the regular, just having Bucky in his life, having Bucky to come home to, always makes those days a little more bearable.


End file.
